


Some Nights

by SherlockWolf



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dialogue Light, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4407116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockWolf/pseuds/SherlockWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another one in which Steve misses Bucky terribly, hates the future, and in the end is reunited with his lost love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Nights

    Some nights where worse than others, after Bucky died. Steve missed him dreadfully. Every cell in his body was yearning for his presence.

    On the easy nights, Steve dreamed of his time with Bucky before the war. He dreamed of hot summer nights laying on the floor with Bucky lying next to them, both clad only in boxers and wet towels curled around their necks. He dreamed of cold winter months, when he was bed ridden with God knows what. Bucky would come home every night after work to cuddle up with Steve to keep him warm.

    Those mornings, Steve woke with the overwhelming feelings of nostalgia and love.

    On hard nights, Steve dreamed of Bucky’s death. He dreamed of Bucky falling, screaming in horror as he fell. He dreamed of Bucky coming back to Steve as a ghost and berating him for not trying harder to save him. Worst of all, he dreamed of dying himself, only to find that Bucky wasn’t in his heaven.

    Those mornings, Steve woke in a cold sweat, fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins as he tried to convince himself that what he’d just seen was a dream and nothing more.

    When Steve ‘died’, he dreamed of Bucky. He dreamed that he was reunited with Bucky in heaven, and that they lived in their small little apartment. It was more furnished, and Steve had significantly more art supplies than he’d had in real life. They danced together every night to various songs that both he and Bucky loved, and then when they were tuckered out beyond belief they would curl up in bed and fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arm. They visited his mother and father, who were living just as happily in a house that Steve had always imagined they deserved. Then, they visited Bucky’s parents, who were equally settled. For seventy years, Steve was lost in his dream of heaven.

    Waking up in the future was the worst thing that could have happened to him.

    At least, that was what he thought for the first few months; he longed to go back to his heaven.

    Then, he learned that Peggy was still alive. Without hesitation, he left S.H.I.E.L.D. (much to Coulson’s chagrin) and visited her in her hospital room at an Alzimers ward in New York City. Peggy burst into tears the first time she saw Steve. His heart nearly wrenched out of his chest at the sight of her; she was just as beautiful as he remembered.

    He pulled a chair to her bedside and listened to her tell him of her life with Daniel, their two beautiful children, and her adventures of working with pre-S.H.I.E.L.D., Howard Stark, and S.H.I.E.L.D. itself. They cried and laughed together over pieces of her life, and Steve valued every moment of it.

    Until, of course, after hours of talking he turned to pour each of them a glass of water only to turn back around to find Peggy bursting into tears as if she’d just seen him for the first time. In her mind, she had.

    Steve was a bit exhausted of heartbreak, after that. He kept his visits to Peggy at a minimal, as much as it tortured him. It wasn’t good for either of them for her to cry like that.

    When Steve met Natasha Romanoff, his life got a little bit brighter. She understood him more than any other the other people he’d worked with by then. She didn’t view him as an icon or a celebrity; she valued his integrity as a human being. That meant a lot to Steve.

    Fury, too, respected him similarly. To Nick, Steve was just another agent, another Avenger, another soldier. And Steve could live with that. Easily.

    By the time Sam Wilson came around, Steve had grown much more comfortable in the future. He’d been introduced to media, customs, and culture, and had adjusted without much difficulty. Sure, there was plenty that both surprised and confused him. But it wasn’t his place to revert the future to the past. And, if he were being honest, he was coming around to enjoy the future significantly more.

    The only thing missing was Bucky.

    He and Sam hit it off easily, and Steve quickly had him on his short list of who he could wholeheartedly trust.

    Steve had only been in the future for two years when everything went to hell. HYDRA had long infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D., which caused the agency to crash and burn. Nick was shot, and he and Natasha were being hunted by some soulless HYDRA agent whose alias was ‘The Winter Soldier’.

    When the soldier’s mask fell off during their fight, Steve’s world—though already burning—fell apart. It was a miracle that he hadn’t passed out right then and there.

    Bucky was alive. Brainwashed and a super-assassin, but _alive_.

    After the soldier nearly ended Steve’s life, he and sam spent months tracking every move Bucky made across the world in an effort to catch him and _save_ him, unlike he’d been able to do when Bucky fell from the train. For the longest time it was to no avail. It didn’t help that he had to break away from his search for a few weeks to fix the absolute _mess_ that Tony had plunged the team into with his Ultron machine.

    Starks never knew when to stop.

    They’d been holed up in the Avengers base for no less than two weeks after that incident when he and Sam caught a solid lead on Bucky’s whereabouts. Apparently, he was hiding in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Denver, Colorado. Steve and Sam left within the hour.

    Breaking into the warehouse was almost too easy. The locks were old, rusted padlocks that snapped when Steve yanked on them hard enough. The doors creaked open, and he and Sam slunk inside, shield raised and gun drawn. Sam had promised only to shoot if they confirmed that an attacker wasn’t Bucky.

    They found him without any trouble. Bucky was tucked in a corner of the building, asleep on his side on a pile of ratty blankets clothed in jeans, combat boots, and a black cotton hoodie. Though the hood was up around his head, Steve could see that his hair was cut short. It reminded Steve of how he’d kept it back in the thirties.

    The two stood for a moment, shocked at how easily they’d been able to sneak up on Bucky after months of simply trying to find him. Then they took action. Sam dove in to cuff Bucky’s wrists and ankles with vibranium handcuffs while Steve taped his mouth over with a strip of duct tape. Everything went well for about five seconds. Then, Bucky woke up fighting.

    But five seconds had been enough. Bucky’s wrists were clamped together, and though he squirmed and screamed around the tape, Steve was able to hold him still enough for Sam to clamp the second pair of cuffs around his ankles. After that, there was nothing Bucky could do.

    They spent the next minute trying to catch their breath, while Bucky glared at Steve. He would’ve glared at Sam, too, but Steve was the only one he could actually see since he was still lying on his side.

    Then they discussed about what to do. They’d talked a little about what they could do over the months, but they still hadn’t had a plan by the time they’d landed in Denver. Sam had suggested bringing Bucky to the Avengers base and locking him up there. Steve had instantly denied that; he didn’t trust anyone else to treat Bucky the way Steve knew he deserved: carefully and with _kindness_. Bucky needed to heal, and he knew that the only thing the agency that was once S.H.I.E.L.D. would do would be to lock him up in a prison cell until he died. That was not what Steve wanted to happen, and he knew that’s not what Bucky would want, either.

    Eventually, they settled on taking him back to Steve’s apartment in Brooklyn. They could hide and protect him there until he’d recovered as best he could.

    Steve and Sam had little difficulty hauling the still squirming Bucky onto the plane they’d taken. As soon as they were all locked on board, Steve gingerly removed the strip of duct tape from Bucky’s mouth so that he could breathe properly.

    Unexpectedly, Bucky didn’t say a word. Not during the flight to the Avengers base. Not during the car ride to Steve’s apartment. Not when Steve carried him bridal-style up the stairs, protected by the cover of the night, and dumped him—carefully—on the couch. Bucky’s only signs of life came when he stopped trying to break his cuffs and when he sat up on the couch so that he was more comfortable.

   After turning on a lamp, Steve sat in the arm chair across from the couch while Sam dragged a chair from the kitchen into the living room.

    For a while, the silence was heated. Each man waited for one of the others to speak first, but no one did. Sam didn’t want to impede on Steve’s reunion with Bucky, Bucky didn’t want to talk at all, and Steve…Steve had no words.

    Bucky was here, _alive_ , in their old apartment (he hadn’t told a soul that the apartment he’d requested S.H.I.E.L.D. buy him was the apartment he and Bucky had once lived in together) decades after he should have been.

    Steve tried not to cry.

    He really did.

    But even a super-soldier needs to cry sometimes.

    As soon as the first tear slipped down his cheek, Sam excused himself, claiming he was dead tired and wanted to sleep, and that if Steve needed him to just yell.

    It wasn’t until after the bedroom door closed that Bucky spoke over Steve’s ungraceful hiccups.

“Help me.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that. Wasn’t it obvious that he was here to do just that? When he voiced his question to Bucky, his voice cracking, Bucky shook his head.

“Get me out of these.” He said, gesturing with his head to the cuffs around his ankles.

Steve hesitated. “You’ll run away.” He stated, because he was sure that Bucky wanted to be anywhere but near him.

“No.”

That was unexpected.

“I’m not going to leave you again.” Also unexpected.

    Steve ran a hand through his hair and wiped a stray tear from his eye. Then he stood, pulled a key from his pocket, and knelt to unlock the cuffs around Bucky’s ankles. He hesitated again, though, and glanced up at Bucky.

    Familiar steel gray eyes gazed steadily back at him, giving him a rush of confidence. This was _Bucky_ , and even though he’d been through _God knows what_ , Steve could trust him not to leave at the least. He unlocked the cuffs and gently removed them from around Bucky’s ankles. Then he stood back, abandoning the cuffs on the floor, and waited.

    Bucky didn’t move, and after a whole minute had passed, Steve released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Hands?” Bucky asked simply, shifting so that Steve would have easier access to the cuffs that held his hands behind his back.

“No.” Steve said, shaking his head. There was no way he was going to give Bucky a chance to use his metal arm.

“Please, Stevie.”

Bucky’s whispered plea was—within the theme—unexpected. Hearing the nickname Bucky and Bucky alone had once given Steve broke his resolve, and he quickly released Bucky from the remaining cuffs.

    Bucky readjusted so that he was sitting comfortably against the couch, but he made no move to leave or attack Steve.

    Steve sat back in his chair, not once taking his eyes off of Bucky. His emotionless face was unsettling.

“Have you remembered anything, yet?” Steve asked to distract himself from how empty Bucky looked. He knew that the answer must be ‘yes’ or Bucky would be trying to kill him right now.

“Yes.”

“Is there anything you want to share with me, or confirm happened, or something like that?” Steve offered, wanted to know what Bucky remembered but not wanting to push his friend into sharing. There could be personal stuff he’d remembered that he didn’t want to share with Steve, and Steve wanted to respect that. Although, he couldn’t remember a single thing Bucky had kept secret from him back in their life in Brooklyn.

    “Yes.”

Steve waited. The questions came one at a time, and minutes of thoughtful silence separated each one.

“We lived together?”

“Yeah. In this apartment, actually.”

“I worked at the local docks?”

“Yep. You didn’t like it, much.”

“You were sick?”

“Every winter.”

“We were poor?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have the strength for a job like you did, and the only money I could contribute was when somebody bought one of my drawings. I worked at a newspaper stand for a few months once, but when I nearly passed out one night you made me quit.”

“You were an artist?”

“Still am, technically.”

“Who taught you?”

“My mother.”

“Your mother’s name was Sarah?”

“Yes. She loved us both, so much.”

“You moved in after her funeral.”

“Yeah.”

    It surprised Steve how centered Bucky’s questions were on him. It was as if Bucky didn’t need to know anything about himself; instead he needed to know everything about Steve.

“We danced a lot.”

“You loved it. I was—still am—horrible at it. But music always brightened your eyes.”

“Put some on.”

    Bucky’s request caught Steve off guard, but as soon as he processed it he stood and went over to his record player. After selecting _Glenn Miller’s Greatest Hit_ s and fiddling with the machine, music began quietly wafting into the room. If Bucky outwardly reacted, Steve missed it. He sat on the couch, his ear titled toward the machine, and he listened with his face as expressionless as before.

“I like it.” Bucky said after the first song ended, and Steve smiled.

“Glenn Miller was one of your favorites.”

“At least I had taste.” Bucky murmured, which made Steve laugh a little. Bucky’s lips twitched in an attempt to smile back.

“What else do you want to know?” Steve asked, hoping that the few questions Bucky had asked so far weren’t all. But, Bucky didn’t reply. His eyes were closed.

“Buck?” Steve asked, knowing that Bucky wasn’t asleep because he had just been talking.

“Shh, Stevie. Listen to the music.”

Steve grinned at that, and again fought back tears. It felt like yesterday when Bucky had said those same words to him the night before he’d been about to ship out for war.

    _“Buck, you’re leaving tomorrow.” Steve had said as Bucky sank into bed next to him. They had left the radio on in the living room, and the soft sounds of jazz had filtered in through their closed bedroom door._

_Bucky had shrugged. “I know. I’ll be okay, though, alright? I promise that nothin’s gonna stop me from comin’ back to ya.”_

_“But-.”_

_“No buts, Stevie. Listen to the music.” Bucky had said, and had pulled Steve to his chest to card a comforting hand through his hair._

    Steve had stopped worrying then, and he did the same now. He couldn’t rush Bucky, he reminded himself. His recovery was going to take time.

    When the second song ended, Bucky opened his eyes and slowly reached out his flesh hand toward Steve.

“Sit with me.”

    Steve got up and sat next to Bucky on the couch, making sure to leave enough space so that he wouldn’t be in Bucky’s personal space.

    However, that was what Bucky had wanted, which Steve found out when Bucky gave an annoyed huff and looked at Steve as if he’d offended him. While Steve watched him in confusion, Bucky scooted closer so that their sides were pressed against one another. Then he nestled his head on Steve’s shoulder and closed his eyes again. As the next song progressed, Bucky shared what he was thinking with Steve.

“I remember almost everything.”

“Especially being with you, like this.”

“I want to feel that again.”

    Steve put his arm over Bucky’s shoulders at that, tugging him the tiniest bit closer.

“You’ll get there, I promise.”

“Okay.” Bucky breathed out, and Steve rested his head on top of Bucky’s in an attempt to get closer.

    The contact and pleasant music made Steve aware of how drowsy he was, and when he told Bucky, he reassured Steve that he wasn’t going anywhere, and that Steve could sleep if he wanted to. As if to offer proof, Bucky wove his flesh fingers with Steve’s most accessible hand and held tight. Steve closed his eyes and let himself drift into unconsciousness.

    It was a dream come true to be holding Bucky in his arms again.

    More.

    It was heaven.

-end-


End file.
